The Deluded Senses
by GoldenWarbler
Summary: A collection of 200wrd stories. New character/chapter/sense or relation of sense. Takes place in the same modern AU of my 'Tied Strings' universe.
1. Hunger

_Nobunaga - Hunger_

* * *

Fingers threaded through messy, brown strands as worn, weary, clear eyes drew to the beaten form before the teenager. A bitter taste of copper filled the back of his throat. Ruby tainted lips. It dyed pallor skin and slathered across red and gray clothing. Chaotic thoughts racked his brain while the tiniest of seizures seized his body.

How had this happened? Why did it happen? Mere hunger should not drive a normal person to slaughter an innocent then drink in their cries as nails scratched and teeth gnawed. Mere hunger should result in sitting down properly, eating a bowl of hot rice, soup, or poultry seasoned to preferred tastes with vegetables.

It should lead to washing down with sips of tea or shots of sake. Not this. Not this. Not _this_.

He swallowed harshly, grimacing at the taste of blood, uncooked flesh and tissue.

Something in the back of his head reprimanded him, insisting that he had done a good job and that there was no need for these childish emotions. Besides, was his stomach not full now? Tense muscles relaxed. Hands dropped to his sides. A heavy sigh befell shaken lips. It was right. He was no longer hungry.


	2. Touch

_Hisahide - Touch_

* * *

It is unexplainable to one who has not felt the cool, smooth surface of bone china. Unexplainable to one who cannot comprehend what makes a collector collect, and a materialistic person gain such qualities. It is down right _impossible_ to describe within pure words as to why it is important to hold the elegant cup in hand as greedy, golden eyes eyed its surface, without seeming...cold.

The closest one can come to describe it is love. A settled thought of pure bliss to know you could hold an object and adore it for all its qualities, know that it is yours and yours alone, and never have to share or inquire its love for you.

A light chuckle escaped the young man's lips, his fingers twisting to put the elegant item in its proper place. No cracks licked pads of appendages. No chips shattered the smooth quest. How subtle pride broke across his mind, drinking in the fact that he owned something worth both monetary and personal value.

"All mine..." he whispered unto no one but himself. Eyes shifted to the next extravagant object, drunken smile growing. Beautifully crafted. Wondrous hues. It, too, was twisted, allowing it to remain immaculate.


	3. Sound

_Lady Oichi - Sound_

* * *

She pressed her hands to the sides of her head, fingers digging against ebony silk. Shivers racked her submissive form. Tears hid behind closed lids. Breathless, soundless words escaped from swollen lips. Why had they not stopped? Why must they persist in such a chaotic, pleading, suffering fashion?

Had she not suffered enough?

Could they not leave her alone?

What had she done wrong?

Her fault, she thought. Everything was her fault. It would always, _always_ be her fault.

Gentle water passed fluttering lashes, pooling to the base of her smooth jaw in tiny rivets. Darkness greeted her as she sat in a home she knew all too well. Hardened scratches clawed at the walls, joining amongst the bitter cries. She pressed hands tighter. Shut her eyes tighter. She begged for sleep—to rest for eternity. She begged for...

Footsteps, light though heavy, greeted her. They calmed the edged pained. Calmed the enraged voices. As she opened her eyes, her hands slid to the wayside. A small smile pulled her lips into a comforting notion, though eyes remained filled with a subtle sadness impossible to shake.

"N-Nii-sama..." she uttered, her hands going for his despite the blood which coated pallor skin.


	4. Scent

_Miyoshi - Scent_

* * *

Soft smoke twisted within night air, barely noticeable by the mixture of man-made and fire light. Its scent filled one's lungs, relaxed the body and calmed the mind.

Light, airy. Beautiful. Wondrous.

The eldest of three stood millimeters from the ajar door, tray in hand with a pot of hot liquid and a cup to match. Within lain trinkets upon trinkets, gold, porcelain, brass, old, and new. He neither understood the need for them nor the attraction, only that the occupant within desired them greatly.

Warmth from the kettle and the drift of green tea swam with floral sensations. Aged wood joined with a subtle hue of flame licking oil and rain. A storm was coming, even if one could see no lightning or hear its manly call. The wood had started swelling. The air grew heavy.

The elder sighed, not wishing to disturb the other man, but knew if he didn't the tea would eventually grow cold. He sunk his fingers into the allowed gap and slid the frame to the side.

Golden eyes directed themselves toward his visitor as the man with the tray bowed his head in the slightest.

The incense was too strong for him here.


End file.
